


the dress

by necrosisjones



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cullen is constantly nervous but Iago finds it cute, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mutual Pining, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, excessive blushing, more like mutual idiots, neither of whom wants to make the first move
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-18 03:15:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21720874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/necrosisjones/pseuds/necrosisjones
Summary: “They say I’m a harlot,” Iago finally speaks when there’s no answer. “A desire demon. And apparently that desire demon has his eyes set on the Inquisition’s commander. Those people at the Winter Palace… They’ll eat me alive.”
Relationships: Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Male Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Male Lavellan/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 9
Kudos: 55





	1. the conversation

**Author's Note:**

> Iago is probably my most beloved Inquisitor, it's about time I introduce him to the world properly and write things that would've happened if bioware didn't rob us of bi!Cullen

Iago has been nothing like his usual self ever since their departure from Skyhold. He keeps wandering off by himself, creeping around the camps like a shadow, avoiding any interactions as much as he could. Without his overwhelming presence, without a constant stream of his ridiculous stories and inappropriate jokes, the evenings feel… Lonely.

Cullen is the first person to do something about it. He’s not accustomed to silence when Iago is involved — he’s already grown used to the two of them spending plenty of time together, when Iago pops into his quarters with the most mundane matters, only to stay for hours and chat until the candles burn down.

And so, on the fifth day of their journey to the Winter Palace, when he notices Iago sitting by the creek with his gaze unfocused, almost absent, he figures it’s time to act.

It takes him a while to come up with a decent excuse to approach the Inquisitor, but, after finding none, he decides to just go with it and hope for the best.

Iago doesn’t see him coming and looks up from the ground only when Cullen crouches next to him. “Hey,” Cullen says, keeping his voice down not to startle the elf. “Mind if I join you?”

“You know I always enjoy your company.”

Even his tone is unfamiliar. Iago is usually the one having a hard time keeping quiet, but right now it seems like he doesn’t even want to open his mouth. This may be much worse than Cullen has though. That’s why he doesn’t waste time for courtesies and gets straight to the point. “Iago, what’s wrong?” he asks.

Iago is silent for a moment, drawing elaborate shapes on the surface of the water with his finger. Then comes a reply, “Nothing.”

Cullen isn’t sure what the etiquette would have him do — he suspects that he shouldn’t force any confessions out of his superiors, especially the Inquisitor himself, but… Josephine isn’t within earshot and he knows for sure that he can’t abandon a friend in need, even if said friend happens to be the most powerful person in Thedas. He chooses to take the risk, and presses on, “I can tell something is wrong.”

Iago’s eyes meet his, staring at him with great curiosity, before the faintest of smiles appears on the elf’s face. “Did you really come here to listen to my complaining?”

 _Yes!_ Cullen wants to shout at the top of his lungs, wants the entire world to know that he cares about nothing more than Iago’s wellbeing. But he can’t. The only thing he can do is to return the smile and say, “Yes. Yes, that’s exactly what I came here for.”

Iago looks away with a sigh. He slowly pulls his hand away from the water, watching the droplets slide down his skin, before glancing at Cullen’s hand briefly; he almost wants to do something, but realizes that it would be foolish. Instead, he wraps his arms around his knees — a place they can be as restless as he needs them to be.

“I’m worried,” he finally says, his voice as small as he makes himself to be when he’s curled up like this.

“About?” Cullen is somewhat afraid to ask. There aren’t many things Iago would worry about, even less he’s actually admit to being worried about. It can’t be a trivial issue.

“About this whole… _Party_.”

The answer surprises Cullen so much he can’t stop a gasp from escaping his lips, though the elf doesn’t seem to notice his reaction. Iago is the last person he’d consider to be anything but excited for the costume party at the Winter Palace the Inquisition has been invited to. To hear him voice his concerns is… Unsettling. And to make things worse, it fills Cullen with dread, too — if someone like Iago is worried, he should be terrified.

“I…” Cullen mumbles, unsure what it is exactly that he wants to say, hesitant to continue this conversation. “I thought you’d be glad to attend a ball after all this fighting.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I still love parties, but… I enjoy the parties where people adore me,” he pauses to push a loose lock of hair behind his ear, wondering whether his next words should ever leave his mouth, “Not the ones where everyone’s waiting for me to make a mistake. And fuck, you know damn well how many mistakes I’ll make.”

Only now does Cullen realize how much Iago is shivering. Is it all the emotions, or is Iago simply cold? Cullen can’t tell, but he knows that he has to do something about it; he tugs at his coat, the material sliding off his back with ease, and covers Iago with it. He makes sure to fluff the fur up around Iago’s neck, before his knuckles accidentally brush against the elf’s ear, causing him to withdraw his hands immediately. Much to his relief, Iago pays it no mind.

“Does it fit me?” Iago asks nonchalantly, as if he’s thinking out loud, his fingers trailing along the fabric, admiring how nice it is.

“I… I think it does.”

 _Of course it does!_ It fits him so well Cullen begins considering if maybe he should let him keep it. Oh, the scandal it would set in motion! Iago would surely enjoy it, parading around Skyhold in a coat that clearly doesn’t belong to him, but Cullen… He’d rather avoid it.

He does remember Josephine mentioning something about Iago’s upcoming birthday though. Perhaps he could commission a similar coat for him? In different colors maybe, as Iago seems to be fond of crimsons rather than reds. An exotic type of fur would probably fit him better as well. Perhaps—

“You know what people say about me, right?”

Iago’s words are like a bucket of ice cold bucket dumped on Cullen’s head. He knows, of course he knows, it would be impossible not to know. Hushed whispers and indignant comments follow Iago everywhere he goes. No matter what the Inquisitor does, no matter how hard he tries, there’s always someone criticizing his every move.

“They say I’m a harlot,” Iago finally speaks when there’s no answer. “A desire demon. And apparently that desire demon has his eyes set on the Inquisition’s commander. Those people at the Winter Palace… They’ll eat me alive.”

Cullen is equally annoyed and flattered by the fact that he, of all people possible, is the subject of such gossip. But the gossip he’s the main part of is just a drop in the ocean of the talk surrounding Iago; talk neither of them can do anything to stop. The Winter Palace will inevitably be the culmination of it and Cullen’s heart breaks at the thought of what Iago will have to go through; he wishes for nothing more than a chance to somehow shelter him from it.

“I know,” is all he can say, not wanting to escalate the situation, and his hand lands on Iago’s shoulder to give it a gentle squeeze. “I wish there was another way to handle this.”

“But there isn’t.”

“No, I’m afraid not,” and suddenly, an idea to take Iago’s mind off this matter, at least for a short while. “Though it would be a shame if you didn’t have a chance to wear _that_ dress.”

To Cullen’s delight, it works incredibly. Iago’s eyes instantly light up, his ears twitch when a wide smiles spreads across his face. “You’ve seen it?” he asks, breathless from excitement.

“Yes,” Cullen can’t help but to smile as well. “I saw it when it was delivered to Skyhold. And I don’t think anyone could pull it off like you will.”

Iago inches closer until he’s almost pressed against Cullen’s side, unbothered by the commander's pauldrons digging into his arm. “Do you really think so? Or are you just saying this to cheer me up?”

“I, uh… I do think so.”

Iago chuckles at how difficult admitting it seems to be, but bites back the laugh as soon as Cullen gets up and extends his arm to him. 

“Come,” Cullen says, his voice convincing this time, offering his hand to Iago. “You should eat something. The nugs we caught along the way are probably done roasting by now.”

Without even a second of hesitation, Iago takes Cullen’s hand and lets him pull him to his feet. Once up, the first thing he does is to reach for the coat.

“No,” Cullen stops him, tugging at the flaps to make sure that Iago’s chest is covered as well. “Keep it. At least for tonight.”

Iago says nothing, but he doesn’t feel like anything should be said. For a moment, they just stand there, looking into each other’s eyes in complete silence. And for a moment, there is not Inquisition and no threat to the world; it’s only the two of them in the entire universe, alone together.

The moment ends abruptly and way too soon for Iago’s liking, when Cullen realizes that he’s still holding the elf’s hand and jumps away from him, as if touching the Inquisitor is the worst offence possible.

“We should—” his voice croaks, so he clears his throat. “We should get back already. They’ll start looking for us soon.”

Iago giggles, amused by the faint blush blooming on Cullen’s cheeks but the commander can’t hear it, as he’s already making his way back to the camp, wanting to avoid any further embarrassment. Iago decides to follow him.

“Hey, Cullen?” he calls, trying to catch up to the commander.

“Yes?”

“Were you really imagining me in that dress?”


	2. the culmination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little warning for this chapter - there's some minor transphobia going on. It's very brief, but if you want to skip it, it begins with the mention of Lady Poulin and ends 6 paragraphs later (or you can just jump to the first mention of Leliana, that works too).

The dress... On anyone else, it would only be _a_ dress, but on Iago… He truly brings it to life, _he_ makes it seem like the epitome of craftsmanship. It’s lovely, the way it hugs his body tightly, while still allowing him enough mobility, but… The dress leaves so very little to imagination: it’s just two strips of fabric that barely cover Iago’s chest and a long skirt with thigh slits beginning way too high to be considered decent. To make things worse, most of Iago’s heavily tattooed skin remains uncovered — there’s no way the nobles won’t find this outrageous.

Cullen worries that it won’t be the only thing disputed by the people gathered here. Iago has to be weighed down by the amount of gold he’s wearing, including the terribly expensive necklace and a nose ring he’d mentioned to Cullen countless of times before. The Winter Palace may be a vanity fair, but surely no one will enjoy seeing an elf parading around with this much jewelry.

There’s something else about the outfit that’s been bothering Cullen ever since Iago has entered the ballroom. High up on Iago’s right thigh, where the fabric starts to part, there’s something silver gleaming in the lights. It doesn’t seem to be an element of the dress and Cullen doesn’t suspect that Iago would ever wear accessories in mismatched colors. Could it be— _Oh no_. It’s a dagger. Iago’s dagger. Iago is _armed_. This won’t go unnoticed…

And it doesn’t. Iago takes a step — it’s like he deliberately makes the step much bigger than necessary — the fabric slides up his leg, and the blade ends up in full view. Backlash is imminent. Yet despite the noise that befalls the chamber, despite all those spiteful stares, Iago is still smiling; he’s smiling in the brightest way possible, one that makes it impossible to look away. And the longer Cullen stares, the more he feels like smiling too.

Just as quick as they are to be offended, Orlesians are equally easily entertained. Their eyes remain on Iago, watching him in awe as he goes does down the stairs, the dress flowing behind him, the material glittering with his every move. He barely has a chance to step onto the dance floor before he’s offered at least a dozen of hands. It seems that not everyone is against him.

The hand he ends up taking belongs to Marquis Cédric Beaumont and yet another wave of whispers washes over the crowd.

His name is well known to Cullen, as is the most discussed detail of his life — the marquis prefers men and, contrary to what the rumormongers would want people to believe, has always treated them with utmost respect. Iago will be safe with him. 

“Of course a whore like him would want to dance with Beaumont.”

“Henriette!”

Cullen doesn’t want to be to obvious, but he can’t help turning to the direction the voices are coming from. It’s two noblewomen, undeniably Orlesian, hiding behind intricately decorated masks and extravagant fans — definitely not someone Cullen would expect such language from.

“What?” the woman continues, unconcerned with the fact that everyone around them can hear her. “Have you not spoken to Lady Poulin tonight? She knows all about the Inquisitor’s past. She says her servants remember him from the time when he was working at a brothel!”

“A brothel?” the other woman inquires, already excited by the possibility of repeating this gossip to her friends.

“Yes! You wouldn’t believe the things he used to do there! Oh, _he_. That’s another joke.”

Cullen’s jaw clenches involuntarily, his fists tightening. This one time he’s glad that he doesn’t have his sword by his side — he knows his hand would already be wrapping around its handle.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s a she, obviously. Probably paid some apostates to fix him here and there and thinks it gives him the right to call himse—”

The woman accidentally meets Cullen’s eyes and colors drain from her face underneath the mask. Cullen doesn’t say anything, doesn’t _need_ to, as the woman evidently understands the silent threat behind his flaming glare. Without hesitation, she takes her companion by the wrist and the two of them back away into a nearby group.

Cullen doesn’t know their names, nor their faces, but he’ll pass every little detail he can remember to Leliana. The very least they can do is to make sure that the Inquisition never works with these women or their families; at best — Iago won’t ever come across them.

He takes a deep breath. With the women away, he can once again focus on the main attraction. It takes him a while to find the Inquisitor in the crowd; despite Iago’s height, he’s relatively easy to spot with his untamed blonde curls, but this time it isn’t so simple. It’s one of those dances where the couples don’t stay in one place for too long, constantly traversing across the dance floor. Each time he thinks he's found Iago, someone else steps into the view.

The colors swirling around, patterns overlapping, gemstones reflecting the lights — it all make his head spin. Just as he wants to look away, a couple moves aside and he notices Iago, embraced by the marquis.

They twirl and he can finally see Iago’s face. A twirl and he catches a glimpse of Iago’s smile, before the elf’s face is once again obscured by the marquis’ shoulder. A twirl and for a split second their eyes meet. It may not last long, as Iago is soon hidden away in the marquis’ arms, but it’s enough. It’s like being struck by a lighting. Cullen can almost feel the sparks of electricity stinging on his tongue and he has to swallow, hard. A shiver of anticipation runs up his back.

Another twirl. Iago isn’t looking at him anymore — he’s gazing up at his partner, a soft smile spreading on his face as the man leans in to pull him even closer.

There’s no denying that the Inquisitor and the marquis would be quite the couple. Gorgeous, obviously, but Iago’s skills and alleged godhood, combined with the marquis’ connections would make them one of the most powerful pairs in Thedas. Maybe even a little _too_ powerful. But they don’t seem to mind that the world could only ever look at them with distrust — the marquis is clearly captivated by Iago, his eyes sparkling with eager interest, and Iago, judging by the way he bites his lips when the man is whispering in his ear, is enjoying all the attention he’s getting.

They look so good together it makes Cullen feel... Something; a choking uneasiness mixed with something he can’t quite name. The longer he stares at them, the stronger the feeling becomes.

It wouldn’t surprise him in the slightest if, at some point during this evening, Iago and the marquis disappeared off to somewhere, only to turn turn up a while later, slightly disheveled and red-faced.

And what if it’s not just a fleeting encounter that doesn’t end the moment the Inquisition leaves the Winter Palace? What if they decide to keep in touch, exchanging letters and gifts, with the help of Leliana’s spies to avoid a scandal? What if—

A quiet round of applause snaps Cullen out of it. The music has just stopped, but those two aren’t letting go of each other yet. For a little longer than necessary, the marquis hold on to Iago’s petite hand, saying something only the two of them can hear, before bowing down to press a kiss to the back of his palm and leaving.

Iago isn’t alone for long, though. Before the marquis even has a chance to step away, another man appears and wraps his arm around the elf, a behavior too nonchalant to fit the nobility. It all becomes obvious when Cullen recognized who that man is — Grand Duke Gaspard de Chalons himself.

Out of this whole theatrical assemble, Gaspard, a man with military experience and support from the Chevaliers, is the one Cullen would prefer to have on the throne. It doesn’t, however, mean that Cullen trusts him to be left alone with Iago, even for a second. Not wanting to cause a scene, Cullen can only watch Gaspard’s grip on Iago’s shoulder tighten as he man leads the Inquisitor to an unoccupied alcove for a conversation in a more private setting.

The unfamiliar ache in Cullen’s chest is becoming increasingly insufferable. He hopes that at least Leliana, wherever she may be, will keep her eyes on Iago.

**X**

Cullen is already at peace with the idea of dying at the Winter Palace, surrounded by a small crowd of the most insufferable people he’s ever encountered in his life. If his throbbing headache doesn’t kill him, Lady Dujardin’s tiresome stories surely will. He can’t even tell how long he's been standing here, doing absolutely nothing besides growing increasingly irritated. Has it only been a few minutes? Hours? Days, maybe? He can’t remember.

Just as lady Dujardin leans on his shoulder, preparing to share yet another ancestral anecdote of hers, and Cullen begins considering if now would be the right time to succumb to his migraine, Iago appears in front of them, looking as pristine as Cullen would’ve hoped to see him.

“I’m so sorry, ladies and gentlemen,” Iago exclaims enthusiastically, moving the glass of champagne to the other hand. “I’m afraid I have to steal the commander for a while. We have some urgent matters to discuss.”

He doesn't wait for a reaction, doesn’t wait for to be pardoned, as he supposes the etiquette would have him do — he simply wraps his free hand around Cullen’s bicep and pulls him to one of the open balconies nearby. He offers no explanation to the poor man dragging behind him, pacing through the masses without a word, and only lets go of the commander once they’re outside, alone, with a stunning view on the vast gardens surrounding the palace.

Cullen inhales deeply, fresh air making it easier to breathe, and slumps down onto an ornamented bench by the wall. “Thank you,” is all he can mumble.

“No need to,” Iago says as he sits down next to him. “I did this for you as much as I did it for myself. I saw what they were doing to you. If one of those old fucks pinched your ass once again, I’d have to cut their arms off on the spot.” He turns to Cullen with a sheepish smile. “But we don’t want blood on our pretty outfits outfits, do we?”

In any other situation, Cullen would laugh at Iago’s words, already fond of his jokes that would most likely sound a little too threatening to everyone else. Right now, however, he can’t even bring himself to smile.

“Drink,” Iago orders, shoving the glass into his hand. “I’ve already had enough anyway.”

Cullen accepts the glass, his first one tonight, but still gives the elf a questioning look, eyebrows raised in curiosity.

“What?” Iago asks, amused, and sits back. “At least five men and three women are trying to get me drunk. I can barely keep up with all the drinks being offered to me.”

There’s a pause, an uncomfortably long one. Cullen is weighing his words, trying to make what’s about to leave his mouth sound at least a little tactful. “Is the marquis imposing himself as well?”

It’s Iago’s turn to look at him with a surprised expression, but a sincere smile quickly takes its place as he folds his palms over his knee. “Cédric? No,” he begins. “Cédric is… Charming. He’s elegant and genuinely interested when I mention things that aren’t related to the Inquisition.”

Cullen nods involuntarily, his eyes fixated on the shadowy shapes of trees far in the distance. He can’t tell if the marquis actually _is_ a nice man and he’s simply prejudiced or if Iago has been so easily tricked. The latter seems implausible, considering how vary the Inquisitor usually is when it comes to the nobles, but—

“He’s so nice he even invited us to his summer house in Val Chevin.”

Cullen shakes his thought away, unsure if he’s hearing right. Iago can’t possibly be _that_ naive, can he? Still, it’s not something Cullen would ever allow himself to point out openly.

“He must have quite the estate to invite the Inquisition,” Cullen mutters, hoping that he won’t be heard. To his dismay, Iago does hear him.

“The Inquisi— What?! No!” Iago gestures frantically, like he always does when he can’t get his words out fast enough. “He invited _us_. You and me.”

Cullen’s had enough. He gets up with an annoyed huff, his eyebrows furrowed, and crosses his arms over his chest. The glass is still in his hand, but he quickly sets it down on the railing, afraid that he may accidentally crush it.

“Why would _I_ want to visit him?” he barks. His voice is full of bitterness; bitterness Iago chooses to ignore, but the elf’s pained face makes it obvious that Cullen’s overreacted.

Cullen is well aware that he’s being unreasonably hostile, but he can’t stop — not when the briefest mention of the marquis makes his blood boil. He would’ve never expected that this night will take a turn for… Whatever this is. Oh, how much he wishes he could be back at Skyhold already.

“Well,” Iago speaks, assuming that he has to say something. “He actually invited me, just _me_ , but I thought you’d like to join me. Cédric’s husband is a Chevalier, so you two would have something to talk about, but I won’t force you to go if the idea seems so outrageous to you.”

“Oh.” is the only sound Cullen lets out. In a whim, the tension that’s been building up in his body all night long disappears — his postures relaxes, features soften. He almost wants to laugh.

Iago blinks, cocking his head to the side, the realization dawning on him.

“Cullen, are you… Jealous?”

Cullen clears his throat and opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out; there’s so much he wants to say, but he can’t bring himself to utter even a word. Instead, he turns his back to Iago and rests against the railing, almost knocking the glass down in the process.

Just as Iago wants to get up and somehow force the words out of him, Cullen turns his head to the side, avoiding even the slightest eye contact, and says, “I have no right to be jealous, _Inquisitor_.”

Cullen can’t see Iago, choosing to remain unmoved, but he can tell that the elf is contemplating his next move. Will Iago laugh at him, at how ridiculous he’s being? Or will he take this seriously, like he rarely does? Or perhaps he’ll return to the ballroom to enjoy the rest of this evening, forgetting that this conversation ever took place? The last option is probably the most pleasant one, but not the most reasonable. There is no easy way out of this situation.

“You’re a fool, commander,” the sentence escapes Iago’s lips before he can decide if it’s the right thing to say.

Cullen turns to him, at last, but appears to be completely unfazed, almost detached. He’s looking at Iago with an unreadable expression, as if the elf’s words have fallen deaf on his ears. The only thing betraying that he has heard him is the way he’s chewing on the inside of his cheek. No, Iago can’t leave it like this now.

“You are a fool,” he repeats, “for thinking that I’d even notice other people when you’re right here.”

Cullen hears him perfectly this time; hears and _understands_. The tips of his ears turn an adorable shade of bright red, his cheeks follow soon. He scratches the back of his neck and lets out a nervous chuckle, then quickly clears his throat, hoping to at least _seem_ calm and collected. He has to do something. He has to do something _soon_ , before he makes an even bigger fool out of himself.

“Can I…” A short hesitation. “May I have this dance?”

Iago beams at him, his adorable dimples finally showing. “Thought I’d have to ask you myself!”

Iago’s hand is delicate, but heavy with all the jewelry adorning his fingers when Cullen takes it in his, giving it a light squeeze, and says, “I’d never forgive myself if it came to that.”

When Iago stands up, they suddenly find themselves pressed against each other, and Cullen’s feels his breath hitch, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise at the unexpected closeness. “I’ll lead, if you don’t mind,” he speaks, hoping to shift the attention to something other than the ridiculous face he must be making right now. 

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Cullen expertly wraps his arm around the elf’s waist, making it obvious that he knows what he’s doing, and it’s Iago’s turn to be amazed. Maybe Cullen shouldn’t consider those weeks of training Josephine and her assistants put him through a complete waste of time — after all, astonishment is a magnificent look on Iago.

“This night is off to a great start,” Iago’s breath tickles Cullen’s neck where the jacket’s collar doesn’t cover it. “I can’t wait to see the rest of it.”

“Let’s not waste time then.”

As expected, it’s terribly clumsy. Within the first few steps, Cullen manages to trample Iago’s feet, messing up so badly that they decide to start over.

It can’t be the best dance in Iago’s life, Cullen suspects that it’s far from it, actually, yet Iago doesn’t seem to mind. Neither does Cullen, of course — he can’t bring himself to care about a few errors when he gets to hold Iago in his arms, so very close.

The music fades away and so does the chatter coming from the inside, silenced by their steady breathing, synchronized; for a while the world seems to disappear around them. It’s… Blissful.

Yet even that is not enough to quiet Cullen’s anxiety down. The Winter Palace is a snake den, a training ground for the elites of Orlais where they learn to be as multifaceted and deceiving as necessary for as much personal gain as possible. He despises this place, all those people and their deceptive smiles. He wants out, preferably soon, and to never return here, but… How could he voice his complains now that Iago is looking up at him with a sweet smile, batting his eyelashes. The elf is saying something, too, or so Cullen thinks — he can see Iago’s lips moving but it takes him way too long to focus on what’s being said.

“The music has stopped,” Iago repeats, this time his words reach the commander.

“What—? Oh.”

Cullen withdraws his arm with a bit of reluctance in his moves, but doesn’t let go of Iago’s hand, not yet. He leans down, his heart hammering in his chest, still unsure if he’s not allowing himself too much liberty, and takes a deep breath. “Thank you for this dance,” he mumbles. Before his doubts can change his mind, he presses his lips to the back of Iago’s hand.

His heartbeat is ringing in his ears. He’s terrified of what’s to come. Of all his terrible ideas...

When he raises his gaze, Iago is staring at him, mouth open in awe. “Wow,” the elf whispers. “Full of surprises tonight, aren’t we, commander?”

Cullen sighs in relief, straightening up. He runs his thumb over Iago’s fingers one last time and finally lets go. “I’ve taken enough of your time already,” he struggles with speaking, the lump in his throat making it needlessly difficult. “You should go back and enjoy the rest of the evening.”

Iago smiles so very lovely, pushing his hair over his shoulder. “Yeah, I think that’s what I should do. Aren’t you coming?”

“I… Need a moment.”

Iago snorts and pats Cullen’s shoulder. Cullen can tell, by the way Iago’s hand rests heavily on him, that the Inquisitor is doing everything to drag this on for as long as possible. Neither of them wants to return to the party, but they both know that they can’t remain here. And so, with a soft sigh, Iago removes his hand and makes his way towards the door.

“Inquisitor?” Cullen calls. He can’t leave this unsaid.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for making this evening bearable.”

Iago waves his hand dismissively, his gold bracelets clanking. “Don’t mention it.”

Just as he’s about to leave the balcony, he stops and looks over his shoulder one last time, a smirk appearing on his face. “But if you truly want to thank me, come to my room tonight.”

 _Oh_.


	3. the consequence

It’s awfully late already, but sleeping is the last thing Iago would like to be doing right now. The events of the night are still playing out in his head, flowing through his mind like a stream of bright images and lively sounds that will surely keep him up for hours to come.

And yet, despite all the things that have happened, all the people he had a chance to meet, his mind inevitably trails back to one thing and one thing only.

He can still feel Cullen’s hands where they were not so long ago, holding on to him almost desperately. The back of his hand tingles when he recalls the kiss, so small and innocent, yet so very meaningful.

He sighs, looking out of the open window, the gardens waving steadily with the night breeze. He’s… Overwhelmed. It’s been years since anyone made him feel something more than short-lived fascination that vanishes when the morning comes. Cullen probably doesn’t even realize the effect he has on Iago. There’s no way he knows that their first meeting took Iago’s breath away, or that the second one wasn’t any different. Iago’s been smitten right from the start and the feeling is only becoming stronger with each passing day.

A knock on his door. The sound startles his, causing his ruminations to come to an abrupt halt. It’s shortly before midnight — why would anyone bother him at this hour? He almost doesn’t want to answer it, concerned that whoever is on the other side of the door will want to bore him with their royal affairs, but his curiosity prevails.

He crosses the room in no time, his bare feet thumping on the marble floor, but hesitates as his hand reaches the door handle.

What if it actually _is_ a noble, wanting to chat about the most tedious matters with a thinly veiled intention of sneaking their way into Iago’s good graces? Or even worse — what if it’s one of his not-so-secretive admirers, hoping to spend some time together, away from the crowd? The thought alone makes his skin crawl.

He takes a deep breath, bracing himself for the worst possibility and pushes the door open.

“Cullen!” he exclaims, relieved and so very glad. It takes all of his willpower to not throw his arms around the commander’s neck. “Come in.”

Cullen shifts his weight from one leg to the other, clearly debating if he should do it. Why he would have any doubts is beyond Iago — he’s only ever made it clear that Cullen’s company is always welcome.

“Come in,” Iago repeats, one hand resting on his hip. “Or I’ll have to pull you in.”

Cullen nods, obediently stepping into the room, his head hanging low as if he’s trying to hide something. Is he… Blushing? Iago isn’t sure — it’s hard to tell with the room being lit only by a few opulent candelabras — but he can still see that something _is_ different about Cullen.

He squints, sizing the man up. Something’s missing...

Then, as Iago turns around to close the door behind Cullen, it clicks.

“Where’s your jacket?” he asks.

Cullen perks up at the question, but Iago can’t be certain if he simply didn’t expect it or if the commander would rather leave it unanswered. The latter makes Iago worry that he may not want to learn the answer.

“I…” Cullen begins, crossing his hands over his chest, feeling too _seen_. “I must’ve left it in my room.”

Iago nods. For a moment he feared that Cullen might’ve wandered off with one of those rich dowagers that had been ogling him all evening long and his jacket is lying forgotten on the floor in their room.

“You look better without it anyway,” Iago says with a faint smile.

Right next to a bed covered with fabrics expensive enough to feed both of them for a year, if not two, Cullen seems completely out of place. He’s standing there in his ordinary shirt, his hair slicked back carelessly and he appears almost plain, almost _boring_ , and yet… And yet he’s still lovely. Oh, how could Iago ever have eyes for anyone but him?

“So,” Iago speaks, his heart beating a bit faster, “what brings you here?”

Cullen looks at him with a distraught face, his eyebrows knitted tightly on his forehead, as if he can’t comprehend a word of what’s being said. “You…” he mumbles. “You invited me here.”

“And you came here without any plans for this,” Iago says matter-of-factly, knowing that it’s not true — even Cullen can’t be that oblivious to flirting.

“Yes.”

Or can he? This night promises to be way more difficult than Iago would’ve expected.

He passes Cullen, forcing himself to smile in a desperate attempt to mask how horribly anxious he is to progress, and walks up to an ornate coffee table weighed down by all kinds of sophisticated treats.

“Would you like some wine?” he asks, hoping that maybe alcohol could ease the atmosphere a little.

“No, thank you.”

“Cheese?”

“Perhaps later.

“What about me then?”

“I—I’m sorry?” Cullen stutters.

Iago takes a swig of the wine and immediately winces at its awfully bitter taste. He’s well aware that Orlesian wine isn’t up to his tastes, that it’s worse than even the cheapest alcohol in Rivain, but he’s not drinking it to enjoy it — he’s drinking it to buy himself at least a few seconds to consider his next move. He’s been treading on thin ice all night long and he worries that it’s starting to break.

“Cullen, I’m tired of guessing,” he begins, his voice uncertain. “So if you aren’t here to bend me over the nearest flat surface and _take me_ , then just tell me, so I can stop wondering.”

A pause. There are a thousand things on his mind, but none of them are coherent enough to be spoken out loud. Iago begins considering turning this into a joke, realizing that it would make this infinitely easier. His heart is racing so fast that his breath hitches in his throat. He can’t even meet Cullen’s gaze. He grips the bottle’s neck even harder and takes another sip.

“I…” he hears Cullen blurt out and prepares for the worst. “I would never be so rough.”

Iago turns to him, wide-eyes, licking the last drops of wine off his lips. Of course he didn’t invite Cullen over to sample Orlesian cheeses together, but he never expected him to actually come here, let alone to say something like this.

He’s frozen in place, one hand resting on the table in case his knees give in — which is more than likely, considering how much they’re already shaking. He recognizes that he’s the one making the situation needlessly awkward right now, but… He can’t bring himself to move.

Thankfully, this one time Cullen has more courage than him. The commander crosses the distance between them in a blink of an eye and takes the bottle from Iago’s hand to put it back on the table.

“If I may be so bold…” he murmurs, unconvinced, brushing his knuckles against the elf’s cheek. “I’d very much like to kiss you.”

Without needing even a second to consider it, Iago answers, “ _Please_ , be so bold.”

The moment Cullen’s lips press against his, Iago’s entire body goes weak, his knees buckling under him. Yet somehow he doesn’t sink to the ground. It takes him a while — a while much longer than he’d like to admit — to realize that it’s Cullen’s arm, wrapped tightly around his waist, that’s saving him from collapsing.

Feeling safe in his embrace, Iago leans into the kiss, hoping to stop Cullen from breaking it too soon, but it doesn’t work at all. Cullen pulls away, his eyes closed, and sighs.

“I hope you don’t want to finish already,” Iago mutters.

Cullen lets out a nervous chuckle, his embrace loosening around Iago, and pecks the elf’s cheek. “Of course not,” he says.

“Well, in that case…”

Iago puts his hand on Cullen’s chest, trying to ignore how much the commander’s heart is pounding under his palm, and gives him a shove, strong enough to make Cullen lose his balance and fall back on the bed with a surprised yelp.

Even among the expensive sheets, Cullen makes a beautiful sight — rosy cheeks and parted lips, his eyes searching for an answer as to what has just ensued. He’s alarmed but clearly thrilled.

Iago cherishes the look on Cullen’s face, staring at the commander from above, and doesn’t even try to stop a wicked smirk from spreading on his own face as he puts his right foot by Cullen’s knee. “You’ll have to disarm me first, commander.”

The dress slips off, fully revealing a holster sitting high on Iago’s leg, its clasp digging into the sensitive skin on the inside of his thigh. It’s a dangerous feat, but he has no doubt that of all people possible, the Commander of the Inquisition will raise to the challenge.

Cullen makes an unintelligent sound, something Iago assumes to be a sign of shock, maybe even doubt, and Iago can’t help but to wonder if he overdid it.

This is the tipping point of the night. Iago doesn’t enjoy leaving the initiative to others, but he knows that there’s no other way, not this time. He can’t rush this, can’t force himself, or it will end miserably. He has to let Cullen have full control, or at least let him think he does.

Cullen remains static for a few more seconds — seconds that feel like eternity — before lifting his hands, at last. One of them wraps around Iago’s ankle, to keep the leg in place, the other goes straight to the holster. Cullen fiddles with the clasp for a while, his shaking fingers being only a part of the problem, before it finally gives in to his blunt nails. He manages to catch the holster before it falls to the ground and sets it down gently, but he doesn’t let go of Iago’s ankle just yet.

The air is thick between them. At this moment Iago realizes how much he despises silence — silence he could fill with the sweetest of words, the highest praise possible, if only Cullen could let him. He begins to doubt that they’ll ever get to anything more than gentle kisses and a few soft touches, when Cullen decides to prove him wrong spectacularly.

The commander licks his lips, his free hand moving to wrap around Iago’s other leg to pull him closer, and presses a kiss over the imprint left by the metal.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” escapes Iago’s lips before he can stop it.

Cullen backs away instantly, distress written all over his face. “I—I’m sorry, should I not do that?”

“No, I’m just… I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Well then…”

Cullen’s hand grips his leg a little harder. He’s more daring this time, placing the next kiss a bit higher, then another above it, and one more.

“Careful there, commander,” Iago murmurs, trying to hold back a giggle. “I’m not wearing any panties.”

With his lips still over Iago’s skin, Cullen’s eyes go wide. He looks up, moving away slowly and swallows. “You mean you—” Cullen gestures to the door with both arms, his eyebrows shooting up. “Out there?”

“Yes, commander. I had no underwear on all night long.”

Iago snickers as Cullen slumps, sinking into the bed, resting his forehead against the elf’s knee. “Maker’s breath, Iago, you’ll be the death of me.”

“Instead of bringing the Maker into this, why don’t you help me out of this dress?”

“But— You look great in it!”

Iago bites back a smile and takes his leg off the bed to allow Cullen some space to get up.

He can’t tell if Cullen truly thinks so or if the commander is desperately trying to stop him from undressing, but Iago doesn’t mind either way. Being complimented by Cullen, no matter the reason, is always pleasant.

“Trust me,” he says. “I look even better without it.”

Iago doesn’t leave him a chance to consider his options. As soon as Cullen stands up, he turns around, moving his hair the the side to reveal the the three small hook-and-eyes holding the dress together. Of course he could open them himself, but where’s the fun in that?

Cullen’s hot breath tickles Iago’s skin and he shudders. He can’t tell if Cullen is trying to distract him or simply prolong this process as much as he can, but Iago doesn’t mind — not when Cullen is kissing the back of his neck in the most delicate way possible. Cullen’s hands wrap around his waist, touching him almost hungrily, while his lips climb up his neck, all the way to his ear. “You’re extremely… Kissable.” Cullen whispers, his tongue brushing against the elf’s earlobe.

“I know.” Iago can’t help but to arch his back. “And yet you’re denying yourself even more kissable space. Come on, undress me already.”

He’s growing impatient, but he’d lie if he said that he’s not enjoying this as well. Perhaps another time, when they have the entire night and the Inquisitor’s quarters at their disposal, they can hold a teasing session until one of them begs to finish it. Preferably Cullen.

“Your wish is my command.” Cullen says and finally unfastens the hook-and-eyes.

Iago lets the dress slide off his shoulders, the fabric pooling around his ankles, before he steps out of it and turns around, shifting a little to the side, until the pale moonlight shining through the windows illuminates his body. He hopes that Cullen will be too preoccupied with the sight to notice the blush creeping onto his cheeks.

But Cullen only peeks at him hastily; it’s nothing more than a fleeting glance, before he turns his head away. "This feels..." Cullen has to clear his throat again, or the words will never get out. "This feels like blasphemy."

"But you like what you see, don't you?" Iago doesn't need to hear the answer to know it. He's sure of it when his hand cups Cullen's half-hard cock through the man's pants.

Cullen's breath hitches, but Iago is perfectly aware that the commander is too polite to leave someone without a reply, even in this situation. "I do," Cullen says quietly, his voice shaky.

"Good. _Good_. Then I'll just..."

He's halfway down to his knees when Cullen's hand closes around his wrist and halts him, pulling him back up. He blinks a few times, unsure how to understand it, but straightens up.

"Did something happen?" he asks. "Did— Did you change your mind?"

"No. Let me— Let me do... You."

“Oh…”

He has to sit down. As soon as possible. Preferably _now_. This is not how it was supposed to be. _He_ wanted to see Cullen blushing and stumbling over his words. _He_ wanted to be the cause of that. It shouldn’t be the other way around.

“Is everything alright?”

It’s very much not, but at the same time he can’t imagine it being any better. It’s strange feeling, being the one truly taken care of, the one being won over. He doesn’t fully understand it, not yet, at least, but he’s dying to experience it some more.

“Iago? Are you okay?”

He shakes the thoughts away, with only a little bit of reluctance. “Yes. Yes, but… Take me to bed already.”

Cullen doesn’t need to be told twice. His hands find Iago’s waist again and he picks the elf up without even an ounce of trouble. It’s just a few steps to the head of the enormous bed, but Iago won’t let any opportunity pass, no matter how small — he embraces Cullen as tightly as he can, his head resting on the commander’s shoulder. _This_ is where he has longed to be.

Cullen lies him down carefully, then straightens up, awaiting. Iago smirks, pretending not to notice Cullen’s curious gaze skittering over his body.

“Come on,” he says, adjusting the pillow under his head. “Don’t make me wait. Undress.”

Cullen nods, seemingly realizing that it’s a natural order of events, but refuses to move.

“What?” Iago asks. “Don’t tell me you’re—” He sits up, pushing his hair behind his ears. “Cullen, _please_. I’ve seen you shirtless plenty of times and I really liked what I’ve seen. I can assure you that I’ll like the rest as well.”

Cullen nods again. His fingers work slowly through the buttons of his shirt. If Iago didn’t know better, he’d worry that Cullen may be reluctant to proceed.

The shirt is finally open and Cullen lets it fall to the ground. Now comes the hard part — quite literally, as Iago can already see Cullen’s erection straining against the front of his pants. Despite his hands itching to help Cullen with it, Iago chooses to ignore it. For now.

“Never mind…” Cullen mumbles, unexpectedly and joins Iago on the bed, only removing his shoes before doing so.

“But—”

“I’ll take care of you first.”

Iago’s ears twitch as he fights back a smile. It’s rare for men to be so eager to please him. It’s usually the other way around — it’s him on his knees, him opening his legs whenever they want it. Not that he would’ve expected Cullen to be anything but a gentleman, but it’s still a nice change of pace.

“How should I… Maker’s breath, I’ve never—”

“It’s okay.” Iago’s hands cup Cullen’s face, pulling him in for a quick kiss. “I’ll show you everything. Give me your hand.”

Without batting an eye, Cullen puts his hand in the elf’s naked lap, no trace of hesitation in his movement. Iago won’t say this out loud, afraid that it could embarrass the commander, but he enjoys seeing him this obedient. Once they’re back to Skyhold, he should test how far the obedience truly goes…

He brings Cullen’s hand up to his face and places a few small pecks on the inside of his palm, hoping to relax him. They seem to do their job, as Cullen shifts closer, smiling at him softly. Oh, how sweet Cullen looks when he’s so unsuspecting…

The smile soon makes place for consternation and a gasp escapes Cullen’s lips as Iago takes two of his fingers in his mouth. It’s not Iago’s first time doing this, far from it, actually, but he always enjoys the surprised reactions.

Maintaining eye contact, Iago skillfully wraps his tongue around Cullen’s fingers, and snorts, feeling Cullen’s wrist go limp. But it’s still not enough for him — he wants the commander on edge, as long as possible.

Iago pushes his tongue between Cullen’s fingers, closing his eyes, and hums.

“Maker…” Cullen chokes out.

The commander is unable to stop himself from letting out a pitiful whimper as Iago works around his fingers, and the elf understand that this can’t continue too long, or the night will be over before it even begins.

“Okay,” he mumbles, pulling Cullen’s fingers out of his mouth. “Okay, now you can… Take care of me.”

He falls back on the pillows, his lower lip bit, and spreads his legs. He’s never seen someone blush this fast.

Cullen looks at his open legs, then his face, and clears his throat. It’s obvious he wants to say something, the way his mouth keeps opening and closing every second, but nothing comes out. It would be adorable, his bashfulness, if Iago wasn’t so unbearably impatient already.

“Just put your fingers inside me, commander.”

“Yes.” Cullen comes closer, his knees on each side of Iago’s right thigh. “Yes, of course.” He sounds sure of his movements, yet he stills his hand before he can touch Iago. “Please tell me if I do something wrong.”

“I will. Now _please_ , continue.”

Cullen eases one finger in, swallowing hard, his jaw clenched. When there’s no objection, he adds a second one.

“Gentle now,” Iago whispers.

“Of course.”

“Yeah? Everyone says that, then they act as if they’re stuffing a chicken for a Satinalia feast.”

Cullen snorts. “I would never.”

Iago gets what he’s been waiting for, at last. when Cullen begins moving his hand. It’s slow, _agonizingly_ slow, and awfully clumsy, yet it’s more than enough.

“Is it good?” Cullen asks in a tiny voice.

“Yes. But it will be much better if you do it a little harder.”

Cullen pushes his fingers in all the way to his knuckles, his gaze fixed on Iago’s face, looking for any kind of response.

“Fuck…” the elf huffs.

It must’ve been exactly what Cullen has been waiting for. He finally dares to experiment a bit, twisting his fingers and curling them.

 _Now_ it’s starting to feel good. With the hand that’s not gripping the sheets Iago gestures to Cullen to come closer. He hooks his arm around the commander’s neck and pulls him in for a kiss.

Cullen’s fingers slow down for a moment when Iago tilts his head, opening his mouth to welcome Cullen’s tongue, only to pick up the pace when the elf clenches around him.

It goes on for a few minutes, or so Iago thinks, unable to focus on something as trivial as time, until Cullen breaks the kiss and rests his forehead on Iago’s shoulder.

“You’re actually good at this,” Iago mutters.

“I’m glad you think so.”

“But we do need to work on your technique when we’re back home. Like—” Iago mewls when Cullen’s fingers encounter a particularly sensitive spot.

He forgets what he was talking about and throws his head back, as much as the pillows allow him.

Cullen, encouraged by the noise Iago’s just made, speeds up even more. His fingers are slick enough to slide in and out with ease, his moves becoming erratic, losing their rhythm.

Iago can tell that Cullen wants to make him come already, but it won’t be happening yet.

“Cullen…” he sighs, raising his knee to brush against Cullen’s crotch. “That’s enough.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Yes. And undress already. I want you inside.”

Cullen withdraws his hand, making sure to pull his fingers out as slowly as possible, before wiping them on the sheets. So much for courtesy...

Iago sits back with a satisfied grin. He doesn’t want to talk, doesn’t even want to blink — he just wants to enjoy the view. Cullen’s blush has spread to his neck and chest by now and it seems to be progressing as the man reluctantly removes his pants.

“You’re gorgeous,” escapes Iago’s mouth. He's thinking out loud rather than speaking, the words being only part of all the praise racing through his mind, but he likes the effect they have on Cullen, who, obviously emboldened, tugs his underwear down.

“You’re the most handsome man in the entire Thedas.”

Cullen’s face is crimson at this point, his nakedness being only part of the reason for that. “Surely that can’t be true.”

“Maybe not. But to you are to me.”

Cullen doesn’t reply, but the cough he lets out is enough to let Iago know that his words got through.

Cullen’s cock is begging for attention, already fully hard, nearly pressing against his abdomen. As much as Iago delights in teasing the commander, as much as he loves this sight, he can’t let him go untouched any longer. He gestures for him to come closer with a smug little smile. Cullen, of course, obliges, as he’s been doing all night long and quickly makes himself comfortable between the elf’s legs.

“Hurry up,” Iago urges. “I want to feel you already.”

“Eager, aren’t you?” Cullen positions himself, lining himself against Iago’s entrance.

“Hey, you can’t blame me for that. Not only are you handsome, but you have a nice dick as well.” Iago wraps his legs around Cullen’s waist, locking his ankles behind his back. “Now show me how nice it truly is.”

With his breath caught in his throat, Cullen eases the tip in, his hand gripping Iago’s thigh a little too hard. For a moment Iago worries that it won’t fit, or even worse — that Cullen has changed his mind — but before he can say anything, Cullen pushes in entirely.

“Oh, fuck…” Iago gasps, nuzzling against the commander’s neck. “Please, move. And don’t you dare stop.”

Iago, in the brief instance of clarity, realizes that there’s no point in speaking anymore, as his words won’t even be heard. Cullen is reciting a litany of curses against his skin, a different swear with each thrust, mentioning the Maker’s name every once in a while, his peculiar prayer peppered with low grunts and sighs. Cullen, it seems, is enjoying this as much as Iago, if not even more.

It’s better than Iago would’ve ever expected. Not just the sex itself, but having Cullen this close, this intimately, for himself and himself alone. But it won’t go on for too long, at least not as long as he’d like. He _can_ last long in bed, usually outlasting his partners, having already mastered using his body, but he knows that it just won’t be the case this time.

He’s terrified to admit it, but he’s aware that simple carnal pleasure is not the sole reason for that. Cullen, despite his clumsiness and lack of experience, can work his body just right, but Cullen, without even trying, can also make his heart flutter.

Every moment spent with him, no matter how short, fills Iago with unbound exhilaration, a feeling alike nothing he’s ever experienced before. It makes him think that he may be—

The orgasm surprises him so much he has no way of preparing for it. He lets it overwhelm him completely, lets it arch his back and make him cry out. The stars behind his eyelids nearly blind him, but he’s completely defenseless, _chooses_ to be.

Cullen follows him soon enough, finishing inside him with a drawn-out groan, his hands gripping at Iago’s body desperately, refusing to let go.

The whole world goes still.

A few minutes pass and Iago’s still out of breath. Inhaling proves to be exceptionally laborious with Cullen’s entire weight on top of him, but he doesn’t even want to think about telling Cullen to move.

They lie like this for a while, a heap of limbs tangled together, their heartbeats slowing down until they nearly synchronize.

“You have—” Cullen begins. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

Iago snorts, pushing the short blonde locks stuck to Cullen’s forehead out of the way. “You should’ve told me, then.” His voice is unexpectedly raspy. “I would’ve opened my legs way earlier. I mean, that war table in Haven? We could’ve had so much fun.”

“No,” Cullen looks up. There’s something in his eyes, something Iago doesn’t exactly understand, but it makes the swarm of butterflies in his stomach go wild.

“I’m not talking about you opening your legs. Well, not only that. It’s… Something more. I’m not sure if I can name it yet, but it’s undeniably there.”

Iago is practically shivering from excitement now.

“I think I know what you mean,” he replies, a little breathless. “I can’t really name it either but I’m sure we can… Figure out our vocabulary together.”

“Yes,” Cullen props himself up to press a heartfelt kiss to Iago’s forehead. “Yes, I’d like that.”

Cullen mumbles something under his breath, something Iago can’t quite understand, and rolls off the elf.

He nearly topples over back onto the bed when he tries to stand up, his legs refusing to work properly yet, but regains his balance quickly.

“Where are you going?” Iago asks, turning to the side to get a better look.

“The bathroom. We…” He gestures to the bed, his other hand moving up to rub the back of his neck. “I think we need a towel.”

“You can go, but you have to kiss me first.”

With one hand resting on the bed to not let Iago pull him back in, Cullen leans down and presses his lips to Iago’s tenderly. It’s surprisingly difficult to kiss when both of them have a hard time stopping themselves from smiling, but they manage.

“I’ll be back shortly.” Cullen whispers.

Iago pushes his hair behind his ear to get a proper view of Cullen as the man walks away — what a sight the commander makes...

In this exact second Iago realizes that surviving the Conclave is nothing, compared to how lucky he was to meet Cullen. Even death wouldn’t be as awful as living in a world without him.

“Cullen?” he calls when Cullen is about to enter the bathroom.

“Yes?”

“Hurry up.” He beams at his lover. “I’m hoping for round two.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading 💖


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